Chapter 7: Shattered Stillness

The first hints of daylight filtered softly through the window as Daryl shifted on the floor beside Isabelle's mattress. He'd stripped off his long sleeve shirt and balled it under his head and slept in just his tank top, though the chill of the night bit at his skin. The ache in his muscles a stark reminder that he wasn't quite as young as he once was, and he pulled himself up into a seated position. Isabelle's breathing was steady, each rise and fall of her chest reassuring him that she was still with them.

The quiet creak of the door pulled him from his thoughts. Lucien entered, a small bag of supplies in hand, moving to check Isabelle's bandages with gentle, practiced hands.

"How's she doin'?" Daryl muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

Lucien glanced over, giving a slight nod. "Better than expected. "She'll make it, but rest will be her best medicine."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgment. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Carol, asleep in the chair, head resting against her hand. Her breaths escaping through slightly parted lips.

"They've gone out scouting, the others," Lucien added in a low tone. "Looking for supplies… other survivors." Daryl nodded, his attention drifting to the faint sound of Laurent's laughter outside. "The boys went to collect more water." He answered the question Daryl didn't ask.

Daryl grunted in response, his attention drifting back toward the door as Laurent's laughter echoed again, mingling with Bastien's voice. For a brief moment, Daryl let himself settle, watching Lucien's calm work, feeling the warmth of the sun creeping across the floor.

But then, a sudden, piercing scream shattered the stillness. Laurent's scream—a desperate, terrified sound that sliced through the air. "DARYL!"

Daryl was on his feet in an instant, his heart pounding as he bolted toward the door, knife in hand. He threw one last glance over his shoulder, seeing Carol stir, her eyes snapping open in alarm as he sprinted out. Daryl's feet pounded against the earth as he tore through the tall grass around the cottage, branches snapping beneath his boots as he raced toward the river. Laurent's scream echoed in his ears, sharp and raw, urging him forward.

As the scene came into view, Daryl's eyes locked onto the boys. An armed soldier, a stocky man with a dark scowl, held Laurent by the collar. Laurent struggled against him, trying without success to break the grip on his shirt. He was speaking words Daryl didn't understand through gritted teeth.

Daryl's run changed to a sprint and the guard's head turned to the sound of his boots, just as Daryl launched his body at him, tackling him to the ground. They rolled in the grass, the guard trying to wrap his hands around Daryl's throat as he grabbed his face in one hand and the other one caught him in the mouth. Laurent ran to Carol's side.

Daryl gritted his teeth, feeling the guard's fingers tighten against his throat as they wrestled in the grass. He threw a hard punch to the guard's jaw, his knuckles colliding with bone in a satisfying crack, but the guard only snarled, twisting to throw Daryl off balance. They grappled in the dirt, each struggling for control, and Daryl's hand instinctively searched for his knife, his fingers brushing the hilt just as the guard's weight pinned him down.

The guard's free hand clamped down on Daryl's wrist, trying to shove the blade away, but Daryl's grip only tightened, his muscles straining as he pushed back.

Another voice emerged from the riverbank, followed by another guard, his rifle raised and ready. He pointed it at Daryl. The guard he was currently trying to throw off him took the opportunity as Daryl's attention was being pulled away and sucker punched him in the side of the head.

Daryl's vision blurred momentarily as the punch landed, pain exploding along the side of his head. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay conscious, but the world tilted slightly. The second guard stood a few paces away, rifle swaying between Daryl and Carol, his finger hovering over the trigger.

The guard above him took advantage of Daryl's dazed state, slamming him back against the ground with a vicious snarl. Daryl's mind scrambled for a plan, his hand still struggling to keep hold of the knife as he fought against the weight pressing him down.

"Maintiens-le à terre!" ("Keep him down!") the second guard ordered, his voice cold as he aimed the rifle squarely at Carol. Daryl's eyes narrowed, anger flaring despite the throbbing pain from the blow to his head. He fought against the guard pinning him, but the man's weight kept him down.

"Genet sera ravi d'entendre c'que nous avons trouvé,",("Genet will be pleased to hear what we found,") the guard taunted, his gaze flicking toward the cottage.

"On va voir à quel point t'es fort quand elle en aura fini avec toi et tes p'tits amis."("We will see how tough you are when she's done with you and your little friends.")

Daryl felt a surge of rage as the guard took a step towards Carol – towards Laurent, his muscles straining to break free. But before he could react, a sharp whistle cut through the air. He watched as the guard's face shifted from smug confidence to shock, an arrow suddenly protruding from his eye.

The guard wavered for a moment, his rifle slipping from his grip before he crumpled to the ground. At the same moment, Carol's knife plunged through the skull of the one pinning Daryl to the ground, the blade erupting from his shocked, open mouth. Blood dripped off the end of the knife and splattered down onto Daryls face. He shoved the body off him and staggered as he rose.

Across the river, Fallou lowered his bow. "I will go check for more." he said, nodding once and turning to head back towards the bridge.

Daryl's eyes swept over the bodies before locking onto Carol's. "We can't stay here. If these two found us, others will too."

Carol sheathed her knife, nodding in agreement as her gaze shifted between Daryl and Laurent. "It's time to make a plan," she said, her voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath it. "We've pushed our luck here as far as it'll go."

Daryl met her eyes, then glanced at the cottage, where Isabelle still rested. Her having still been asleep posed a problem they had to find a way around. They couldn't risk another attack, and it was only a matter of time before they started looking for their missing guards.

They had just finished searching, stripping and disposing of the bodies when Fallou returned.

"No sign of others for now," he said, his voice low. "Claire and Etienne are down river. They found another survivor that was out scavenging. He said there is a large group of them at a hotel in Pontorson." His eyes scanned the fields around them. "They have room."

"How far is that?" Daryl asked, starting back towards the cottage. Carol, Laurent and Fallou followed suit.

"From here, only a few hours walk, staying away from the main road. Maybe longer if Isabelle has to be carried."

"We still have the UTV." Carol offered as they stepped through the threshold, "Not sure how much fuel is left in it though." She closed the door behind them. Lucien could be heard rustling around in Isabelle's room. He stepped into the doorway, wiping his hands on a cloth.

"The engine may draw unwanted attention." Fallou offered.

Daryl was working his bottom lip between his teeth again, his hands on his hips. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "We don't have a choice. We can't carry her that far."

Lucien took in the tension in the room, his eyes briefly flicking through Isabelle's door before settling on the group. "She's stable for now, but moving her in her condition… it'll be risky." He paused, glancing at Daryl. "But she'll have a better chance with proper shelter and supplies. If this hotel has what we need, it's worth the risk."

Daryl nodded, his expression taut as he considered their options. "We take the UTV, then," he said, his voice firm. "We can keep off the road, stay close to cover. If we hit trouble, we'll deal with it on the way."

Fallou's gaze sharpened as he processed the plan. "I'll go downriver, check in with Claire and Etienne, and let them know we're moving out tonight. They can scout ahead, make sure the path to Pontorson is clear. The others should be back by the time I return."

Daryl looked at Laurent, who stood close by, his face a mixture of worry and determination. "You'll stick close to Carol and me," he said, his tone gentler. Laurent nodded, his gaze flicking to Isabelle's door. Daryl put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, look at me. She's going to be ok." He nodded again, still looking towards the room.

"Tonight then," Lucien said, pushing his glasses up to rest on top of his head. "We can leave once the fog settles."

As the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, the familiar blanket of fog began to settle over the fields, bringing with it a chill that bit through their clothes. The others had set out on foot, leaving Daryl, Carol Laurent and Isabelle at the cottage to follow shortly behind. The room was quiet, eerie now that it was void of the shuffling footsteps and crackling of fire that had given the long empty remains life since they'd arrived.

The silence pressed in around them, amplifying the creaks of the old cottage as the fog thickened outside, casting shadows across the walls. Daryl glanced around, the emptiness of the space making it feel as if the cottage itself was aware of their departure, watching them leave it behind.

Carol moved quietly, her footsteps soft as she approached the door, her eyes scanning the room. Laurent lingered nearby, his face pale in the fading light, hands fidgeting with the straps of his pack. His eyes drifted toward Isabelle, a flicker of worry crossing his face.

"Come on, let's load up." Daryl said, opening the door and walking out into the gravel drive. Carol walked over, climbing up into the driver seat, scanning the area around them. Laurent walked around to the back and Daryl lifted him up and onto the back, where he situated himself against the back of the seats.

Daryl's boots crunched against the gravel as he circled back around towards the door. When he stepped back into Isabelle's room, he took in the sight of her, still lying helpless on the mattress. They'd carefully bundled her up to stave off the cold as they moved her. She still hadn't responded to Lucien's cleanings or recovering her wounds. Her only sign of life being the steady rise and fall of her chest. Daryl knelt down beside her, his hand reaching out to push the hair out of her face. His thumb stroked her cheekbone as he looked at her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight that leaked through the boards over the window.

"I need you to wake up." He whispered, knowing that it was mainly to himself. Lucien had said that she may be able to hear him. And right now, he needed her to. Worry gripped his chest, but he shook his head trying to clear it away. He carefully slid one arm under her shoulders, the other sliding under the back of her knees. A small noise escaped her lips as he lifted her, her closed eyes squinched.

Daryl's breath caught as Isabelle's face scrunched, a small flicker of life breaking through her stillness. It wasn't much, but it was something—a reminder that she was still in there, fighting her way back.

He adjusted his grip, mindful of her injuries, and eased her against his chest, feeling the faint warmth of her breath against his neck.

Each step toward the door was careful, the weight of her slight but the weight of his responsibility heavier. Daryl made his way through the dim cottage, the creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence, amplifying the sense of finality that filled the space they were leaving behind.

Carol came around to help Daryl get situated in the passenger seat. He lifted Isabelle carefully, settling her across his lap in the front seat, her head resting against his chest. He shifted, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and securing her legs with the other, his movements gentle as he adjusted her for the ride. Carol patted his knee as she walked off.

As she settled back into the driver seat, she pulled her jacket up around the sides of her neck. It seemed chillier tonight than it had the previous nights. Winter was well on its way. She shuttered, thinking of all the vast fields around them covered in snow. She made a silent wish that they would be well on their way back home before the snow started to fall.

Hopefully… she thought.

She'd always hated the cold.